


Resurrection Sucks

by TheRepeat



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dark, Groundhog Day Loop, Loosely-connected chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-27 06:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRepeat/pseuds/TheRepeat
Summary: When Robin dies, the day resets. These three stories show that this really, really sucks for him.





	1. First Story: Call for Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally posted on Fanfiction.net (under TheRepeat) on February 13, 2017. Each chapter is referred to as a "story," from Story 1 to Story 3, to symbolize that the three chapters are only loosely connected.

The Plegian captain crumpled, dead.

I could hardly believe my eyes as I panted for breath, still caked in a dozen different bloods, shivering from the exertion. “Did we…” I started, but was too winded to finish the sentence.

At my side stood Chrom, equally battered, though Chrom’s expression was more one of determination and confidence than my shock.

Chrom grinned at his tactician. “We’ve won!” He stood straight and sheathed Falchion before extending his hand to me. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Robin. I don’t know how many times we’ve failed, but all it takes is one victory to set things right.”

I clumsily shook Chrom’s hand—or grasped, more aptly. Adrenaline hazed my thoughts, so I had difficulty coordinating. “Six,” I breathed. “Six tries.”

Chrom shook his head. “Clear your mind of the past, Robin. What matters is that we’ve finally succeeded. _You_ have finally succeeded.” He released my hand to clasp my shoulder instead. “Rest easy.”

For an instant, I felt exactly as Chrom wanted me to. I started to relax as the stress of battle began fading away, and Chrom’s strong grip on my shoulder was as firm as the metaphor the action represented; I could stand there forever…

* * *

…Naturally, the moment couldn’t last.

Chrom was stunned by the newcomer’s words. I, as well, winced in surprise.

Ricken stood in the tent flap, still bloodied and dirt-stained from the battle hours before. “Sh… She’s… She…”

“Gods…” Chrom murmured. “I can’t believe it… Maribelle…”

Broken tears ran down Ricken’s eyes. His lips quivered. “She… Right in my arms, she…” His sleeve came up to his eyes, and he was starting to shake. I saw a small crowd forming outside, having noticed the disturbance.

I quickly turned away from him and back to my work: unpacking. There was a camp to set up.

I sighed irritably, realizing I had left my books in the convoy, so I made to leave. “Excuse me,” I asked Ricken.

His arm dropped from his face, and he looked at me, almost disbelieving. In hindsight, I suppose my words were rather harshly delivered.

But Ricken relented, and I marched past him. I marched past the rest of the crowd, too. I caught many judgmental glances as I walked.

Oh, yes, they all saw me. They saw how unflinching I was. They knew that, really, I didn’t care that Maribelle was dead.

I had seen her die dozens of times. I’d seen ALL of them die, dozens of times. Hell, in this last battle alone, each unit I had fielded had died at some point or another: but usually, someone’s death meant a hole in the formation, a weak link, so the rest of us would fall soon after.

But it meant nothing if anyone died. It only mattered if _I_ did— _when_ I did. Six times. Six. Far from a new record, but even once was too many.

I mulled over today’s events as I walked toward the convoy. What went differently this time? How did Maribelle die? If she had stuck to the plan, she wouldn’t have. That means something must have influenced her to break from the plan. But what?

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. This skirmish had been particularly brutal. Six. Unacceptable. I wouldn’t reset.

* * *

In lieu of knocking, there was a rustle at my tent flap.

Must be Chrom. It’s only ever Chrom. “It’s unlocked,” I snarked.

It wasn’t Chrom. The sight of Ricken was surprising enough to make me close my book. “Ricken?” I said skeptically. It occurred to me that I may have sounded a little confrontational. Deadpan at least. I usually was like that, I guess, so it wasn’t anything Ricken wasn’t used to.

Ricken smiled. His eyes were still somewhat red, but he seemed oddly chipper, considering. “Hey, Robin. Mind if I come in?”

“Uh… nah, come in,” I said, motioning him in. I set my book aside and gestured for him to sit in Chrom’s usual chair. “Sorry, uh, about your wife.”

Ricken sniffed once, and rubbed his nose. “I-It’s okay. Thanks.”

I watched him curiously, waiting for him to continue. I guess my stare was a little piercing, because he got really uncomfortable.

Ricken suddenly leaned forward, staring me in the eye. “So I talked to Chrom earlier,” he said.

“Great,” I said. What a grand achievement.

“A-Anyway… He told me.” His stare was intense. “He told me about… you know. Your thing.”

An inappropriate joke sprung to mind, but I was too startled by what his words implied to make a jest. “Wh… What do you mean.”

“You know what I mean,” Ricken insisted. “Your time-travel stuff.”

My eyes narrowed. “What, exactly, did Chrom tell you?”

Ricken took a breath. “Okay, so I was crying and stuff, okay? And I, well, I begged Naga to bring Maribelle back to me, and… that turned into begging Chrom, instead… And he told me about you. But he said that it’s up to you if you want to reset time, okay? He told me to be clear that this wasn’t an order.”

Of course it wasn’t an order. Chrom would never…

I shook my head. “No.”

Ricken blinked. My refusal had shocked him to the very core. What, did he think asking nicely would be enough? “A-Are you serious?” he said, indignantly. As though he had the right to be indignant.

I tilted my head, curious. My thoughts from earlier had resurfaced, so I changed the subject. “How did Maribelle die?”

Ricken blinked, and I realized I had confused him. He probably now thought that knowing the circumstances of her death would be enough to change my mind. I chose to let him believe that, as long as I got what I wanted out of this conversation.

“Okay…” He concentrated, hard, evidently trying to think of the most romantic way to describe her death. “We were in the back of the formation. Strike fast, hit hard: just like you ordered. Maribelle was healing, I was mage-ing. When I notice something to the side: a squad of wyverns.”

Wyvern squad! My mouth opened slightly. I had entirely forgotten about them! They hadn’t been relevant since the fourth reset, so I forgot to plan around them the last time: Miriel was in front instead of on the left flank, so the front was more bolstered, but the flank was vulnerable… so we should have lost, if it weren’t for…

Ricken noticed my reaction, felt he had gained a foothold, and continued. “I break ranks to deal with the lead one. Kellam is with me, so I’m not terribly vulnerable, and Maribelle’s close behind. We end up taking all of them out but one, and that one is a Wyvern Lord, with a silver lance and everything. Kellam gets a few hits in, but the bad guy closes in on me, instead.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “A-And then… That’s when Maribelle jumps in the way. A dual guard, but… she took the whole thing.” He closed his eyes, becoming more and more unstable. “The lance… The blood… Oh, gods, she was so… Thanks to her, I killed the wyvern lord, freeing our flank, but… She was already…” He sniffed several times, composing himself. I glanced around, but, unfortunately, I didn’t keep any tissues nearby.

Ricken looked me in the eyes. His were tear-filled. “Her last words were, ‘I love you, Ricken,’ and, ‘don’t tell Robin.’ At the time, I didn’t know why she had said that, so when I brought it up to Chrom…”

Maribelle knew? I was stunned. Here I was, for the last several months, assuming only Chrom and I had known of my ‘talent.’ But now a few things made more sense… some encounters we had had, some rather cryptic things she had said around me… Yes, it was certain, she had known.

Ricken’s hands clenched into fists. “It’s so unfair! Maribelle, she—she understood me. She was one of the only people to not treat me like a kid. She respected my station as a noble, and treated me like an equal. Gods, she was so perfect! She deserves to live.” His resolute stare returned. “And you can do that, Robin! _You_ can bring her back to life!”

My thoughts were mostly gone from here, and were back on the battlefield. Seven times I had tried, and six I had failed. Ricken had been skewered by that very Wyvern Lord before. The flank then fell, and we all died. Instead, Maribelle died, and we won. All that changed was simple, dumb luck.

But it worked.

_“Robin!”_ Ricken snapped angrily, bringing me back to the present. “Are you listening?! Maribelle can survive! We can win without her death! I’m just asking you, please, _please_ reset the day! That’s all I ask!”

‘That’s all I ask.’ _Heh._ I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Ricken.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” I opened my eyes. “Resetting the day is not simple.”

“I don’t care!” Ricken exclaimed. “Anything! Anything to get Maribelle back!”

“Resetting involves my _death,”_ I explained. “I have to die.”

That stopped him. He was out of words, if only for the moment.

“Dying isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I said, deadpan. “It hurts. It _hurts_.” I winced, just thinking about it. About those words, the only ones I am ever able to think while… “I can’t describe to you how unbelievably painful it is. I’m not sure if it’s the dying or the resurrection, but let me tell you, it is truly awful. It’s so indescribably, inhumanly painful, such that it’s—it’s traumatizing…” I was grasping at my vocabulary by this point, trying to find some way to vocalize this. “…I wake up in a cold sweat, shivering just from the memory of that pain, for minutes and minutes afterward. It never truly feels like the pain leaves; the thought of experiencing it again is a nightmare that I know will come true, but I will always fight my hardest to prevent. I literally can’t describe it in words: it’s incomprehensible. I wish it was possible for me to convey just how much death hurts, to make you understand. …No, scratch that—I would never wish that on anyone.” I took a breath. “Today, I was forced to experience it _six times._ I died six times today, each time to something different, something possibly preventable. Perhaps, _perhaps,_ with time, I could possibly find a solution to this that does not involve anyone’s death, but that could take another six times, or maybe ten, or maybe twenty.” I shuddered. “I couldn’t. I would sooner desert. It’s awful. It’s awful.”

Ricken was quiet for a long time.

Then:

“It’s… a deep, gnawing pain in my heart,” he began. “The thought that I’ll never see her again. We will never speak again… We’ll never have children, never raise a family together… She will never see an end to this blasted war. But you can change that. Maribelle is a wonderful person, Robin, and you know it! If you reset today, and tell me about what will happen to Maribelle, I will fight harder than I ever have! I would do _anything_ to protect Maribelle.”

I saw a sudden, terrifying leer in his eyes.

“Anything!”

I raised a calming hand. My voice was softer now; I was trying to sound sympathetic, but I was unused to such a tone. “Ricken. Death is a normal piece of life. For my part, I envy that Maribelle is capable of dying. I have no idea of my future, but hers… she deserves the honorable, peaceful death she accepted. She died the way anyone would want to. Please, Ricken, let Maribelle go.”

“No!” he shouted, rising to his feet. “Stop being so _selfish!_ You suffer some pain, sure, but in the end, everyone lives because of you! You’re wasting your power!”

“Selfish? _Selfish?!”_ I stood as well, growing angry. “Me?! I do everything I can to keep this army running! Do you know how many times I’ve died for you? Dozens! I’ve saved Maribelle dozens of times! I’ve saved Chrom dozens of times! And it’s all—for— _you!_ The Shepherds! None of you would be here if it weren’t for me, so I say, stop flinging accusations, and know your place, Ricken!”

Ricken seemed humbled. I couldn’t remember the last time I had shouted off of the battlefield, and my voice was already growing hoarse.

He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Robin. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I took a moment to clear my head. “…Right.”

“But still,” Ricken said. “For Maribelle… Can I not change your mind?”

I shook my head. “Sorry.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop trying,” Ricken said, determined. “I love Maribelle with all my heart. I’ll pester you ‘til the end of days, if I have to!”

I sighed. “You can’t. Every night, it’s locked. If I died right now, I could only go as far back as this morning: no earlier, no later. By the time tomorrow comes around, it won’t be possible for me to go back and save Maribelle.”

Ricken went sheet-white with shock.

I immediately bit my tongue, regretting my words.

Why? Why would I tell him that?! Why don’t I just _tell_ him to—

Ricken closed his eyes, controlling his breathing, and his complexion began to return. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was averted. “I’m sorry, Robin. I shouldn’t have asked…”

I flinched as he started to move, but no, he was just leaving. He parted the tent flap, and was gone.

My heart was racing, my breath haggard, and my brow, sweating. I wasn’t safe.

Before this night was over, Ricken would try to kill me. I knew it.

I stopped for a moment to think. Would he _really?_ Was Ricken so psychopathic?

I shook my head. Ricken wasn’t a psychopath. He didn’t even think he _could_ kill me, so he would feel justified. ‘Some pain,’ he had said. Hah! He had no idea. I would sooner die for real than experience that pain one more time. I’d rather switch places with Maribelle… were it possible.

But no. Ricken was not a bad person. In fact, I couldn’t blame him for what he was certainly going to do. With no reference frame of the pain of death, he couldn’t possibly empathize with me. Any rational person would think the same way—would paint me as the villain.

I squeezed my eyes shut and gathered my wits. I was getting ahead of myself. This wasn’t a sure thing. I didn’t know for certain if he was really going to do it. All I had to do was play careful, and judge Ricken’s next move, if there even was one.

* * *

I frowned and plucked my pen from my ear. “Only five left…?” I shook my head, scribbling the note down on my clipboard. “Get… more… steel swords.”

I reviewed my other notes, and then gave the rest of the armory a cursory glance. Looked like inventory was over. Time to lock up.

I turned away from the weapons, and hesitated. A silhouette stood in the doorway.

“…Ricken?” I murmured warily. “Why aren’t you off burying Maribelle? Isn’t her funeral in a half-hour or so?”

“I just came to get you,” said Ricken, a slightly cold edge to his tone. “I figured you should be there, you know? She liked you.”

_Yeah, right,_ I thought. Nobody liked me but Chrom. More guilting tactics. “I’m busy,” I said curtly.

“Yeah,” Ricken said. I noticed he was shivering slightly, and his fingers were twitchy. “Pretty much everyone’s busy with _something._ Everybody’s off somewhere… doing stuff.”

My eyes widened slightly. This. His hint. The armory was on the edge of camp, with only the tree line on one side and a few scattered tents on the other. Far from the rest of the Shepherds.

“So… No witnesses, huh?” I said, smiling my driest smile.

“No witnesses,” Ricken acknowledged. “Please. Easy way or hard way.”

His fingers brushed against the tome at his back. He hadn’t returned his Elwind to the armory after the battle.

“You’re a coward, you know,” I stated. “This is murder. There’s no way to justify this, Ricken.”

“Yes there is,” he insisted. “You endure some pain, and Maribelle survives.”

“It’s not just ‘some pain’,” I hissed. “It’s a mortal, soul-tearing, unspeakable pain!” Despite myself, I was shivering with fear. Not of Ricken; he could tear me apart with that Elwind to his heart’s content, and it would pale in comparison. “Don’t do this, Ricken! You’re a better person than this.”

“Letting my wife stay dead when I have the power to bring her back would not make me a good person!” Ricken snapped.

His features were becoming angrier, but at the same time, more terrified. A cornered dog.

“Stay still, Robin,” Ricken said dangerously, and he suddenly reached for his Elwind.

I dove to the side, dodging the first blast; it knocked several suits of armor aside, all the carefully-organized weapons tossed haphazardly around the tent.

I charged Ricken, ramming my shoulder into his chest. Both of us tumbled out of the tent, and the boy’s Elwind clattered aside.

I deftly grabbed the Elwind, prayed to Naga for the strength of a hand-axe user, and threw the book as hard as I could. It flew over the tent and into some bushes, past the trees.

Ricken had a split second to decide on his next course of action. Hand-to-hand with me, or search for the tome? This was only a weapon armory, so he wouldn’t have any luck finding more tomes in there.

He chose the latter, and I took the opportunity to run.

My heart pounded in my ears, a deep, primal urge to survive pumped through me, and fear, oh gods, the fear. It had never felt so real. Death had always been sudden before—never had I had so much time to dread it.

All was quiet throughout camp. Where the hell _was_ everyone?! Where was Chrom?!

I glanced over my shoulder, and though I couldn’t see Ricken, I knew that running was not a good idea; the camp was relatively open, with wide sight lines. It’d be best if I found a place to hide instead.

I ducked into a nearby tent, and quickly had the flap fall behind me. My breath and my heartbeat were so loud as I stood there, within the confines of that tent that looked like so many others. Terrified, terrified.

“Oh?”

I unconsciously released a loud, startled yelp, and a dark chill ran down my spine.

There she was. She uncoiled herself from her bed, her limbs snaking down from the covers, and furled into a standing position.

Tharja. Her expression was sultry, her movements, seductive—more so than usual. In her eyes, I saw a sort of… triumphant look? What the hell?

“Come in, come in,” she cooed, gracefully gesturing me in with a serpentine wave of the hand. “Don’t be scared off by little Tharja.”

I had never thought I would think this, but at that moment, Tharja seemed much less threatening than Ricken. I complied, following her a little deeper into her small tent.

Tharja sat on her bed, slowly crossing her legs. I could see far too much from this vantage point, so I tactfully shifted my eyes.

“Ricken mentioned your little… ability,” she said coolly.

Oh, gods, no. “Who else knows?” Anyone who knew would become practically Ricken’s ally, and my enemy. They’d all be out for my blood.

This could be much worse than I thought.

“Just me, as far as I know… But that’s not important.” She tilted her head. “Resetting _time?_ Tsk, tsk. I’m familiar with many hexes, but that is one I have never known.”

A Plegian spear, wet with hot blood—Tharja’s body crumpling instantly—the collapse of the rear guard, the arrow hell-bent on my heart—

“It’s not as fun as it sounds,” I said dryly.

“Ah, but think of all that extra time we have.” She slowly stood, her motions slow, methodical, suave. “Of all the _things_ we could do…” A hand came up, and her thin fingers curled around my neck. “So many things to experience.” Her smirk darkened. “Come to think of it… Now seems like a good time.”

“Uh!” I started, shrinking away from her hand; but she pressed up against me, her lips brushing against my neck. I could think only of her corpse. “No, Tharja! Get—off!”

I pushed her away, forcing her to retreat a few steps. But her sneer did not waver. “Don’t worry, dear… We’ll be sure to reset once I’m done.”

Did she know—? Yes, she definitely did. The way she said that, she knew _exactly_ what ‘resetting’ entailed.

She took a step closer, and I backed away. “You don’t understand,” I said calmly. She hesitated for a moment, her head tilted… animalistically. Words wouldn’t stay her for long. “If I reset, I’m the only one who remembers.” I pointed at her sharply. _“You_ won’t remember anything. You get nothing out of this except making an enemy of me.”

Her smirk died, and her hands fell limp. Her expression became the one she held for everyone but me: disappointment, judgment, her eyes half-masked by bangs. No bright, seductive smile. Seeing her like this was… different.

“Oh.” She turned away, walked over to her bed (with much less hip-swaying this time), and sat down. “Fine.”

A long, uncomfortable, silent moment. Tharja looked irritated, while I felt a mixture of fear and awkwardness from the situation.

Ultimately, I felt hardly safer here than I did out there with Ricken. If I stayed any longer, Tharja might bring out some seduction hexes, and I’d rather take my chances with a mage whose powers I knew.

“I’m gonna go,” I said carefully.

She waved me off. “Let me know how it goes with Ricken. This is a tasty story indeed.”

I pursed my lips. I begged to differ.

* * *

Clear right, clear left. I slipped out of Tharja’s tent and continued sneaking toward the center of camp.

Duck here, dash here. Not a soul in sight. Ricken was nowhere to be found, but neither was anyone else.

Fear, it was gripping, all I wanted was to sit, to huddle over, but I couldn’t, I had to fight it, I had to keep moving.

This camp was so damn empty that I was startled when I actually saw someone. I peered around the tent, and there was Lissa, carrying a small box along, whistling to herself.

I relaxed. Lissa. The friendliest face…

I whistled a high note, catching her attention; she frowned, curious as to my secrecy, and walked over.

“Hey, Robin,” she said, now grinning a little bit at my unusual gait. “Ricken said he was looking for you.”

Oh no. Lissa. Was she my enemy, too?

…No… No, she didn’t know. Her expression was far too upbeat, and she definitely would have mentioned by now if she knew about my ability. Lissa was still a friend, just like always.

“Yeah, well, that’s a very bad thing,” I said, still checking over my shoulders as we talked. “I’m trying to get away from him—just until tomorrow.”

Lissa’s expression became a little more serious. “Why not run into the woods? He’s probably looking around camp, he won’t find you out there.”

I blinked. Here I was, trying to sneak my way to Chrom, when Lissa had a much easier and more obvious solution. Didn’t I feel like an idiot. “Thanks, Lissa,” I said, grinning.

Her hand touched her cheek, and her expression genuinely lit up. “A real smile…” she murmured. For a moment, her smile flickered, as though conflicted.

That half-smile reminded me of the last time she’d died. We had been paired up, and she’d taken the lead for just a moment, to heal: all the time that bandit had needed to bring down his axe. Reset.

My antisocial tendencies kicked in again, and my smile died. “Never mind. Sorry for wasting your time.” Cold, callous. Maybe next time she wouldn’t volunteer to be my partner, and that wouldn’t happen again.

She hesitated for a moment as I started to walk away. Then, she got over her inner conflict: “Um… Wait!”

She hurried after me, and pointed aside. “There’s a path that way… so you can find your way back easier.” She looked at the sky. “It’s almost nightfall, so… it’ll be helpful. Okay?”

I nodded. “Thanks, Lissa. Later.”

I left her behind.

* * *

 

It was dark… and cold. I had nothing but my own thoughts; soon, I could barely see even the path before me through the canopy-filtered moonlight.

I had no one to blame but myself for this, I knew. It was my own antisocial attitude that got me in this predicament. I was a jerk, and now I was paying my dues to the Shepherds. If we had been friends then, Ricken would be less willing to sacrifice me now.

I didn’t _like_ being a jerk. I didn’t _want_ to be alone. I liked the others. I wanted to make friends, I wanted to be as outgoing as everyone else.

But with my power… it was just impossible to avoid becoming jaded. So much death, such terrible pain… And speaking to people multiple days in a row, and knowing that they are going to say the exact same thing they did last time… It’s dehumanizing. It makes the others feel more like automata than people, like you can always manipulate events to make them act the way you want.

Chrom was the only one who knew my secret, and the only one I trusted to know it. Chrom would never ask—

_snap_

* * *

 

I collapsed in a writhing heap, screaming in agony. The bear trap was unrelenting; its fangs dug deep into my ankle, spilling my blood across the grass path.

I reached down to the mechanism with shaking, pain-numbed hands, but I was too weakened, and the trap was too tight.

I continued contorting in pain, forced to watch more of my blood spill.

I glimpsed a figure out of the corner of my eye: small stature, obscured by shadows. Fear, pain, and adrenaline numbed me to the point of inability to recognize it.

It moved into the light and revealed itself as Ricken. His face was twisted into a horrified grimace, staring down at me with pity and terror.

_“Ricken!”_ I snarled, spittle and blood flying from my lips. “You son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and a downpour of his tears began. “I’m sorry!”

I noticed something in his hands. He apparently never did find that Elwind, because he now tightly clutched a crude knife.

And he was working up the courage to use it—to finish me.

“You bastard! You piece of—” I cringed at another jolt of pain shooting through my crippled leg.

Ricken made up his mind, and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Robin! I have to do this for Maribelle!”

He strode over to me, and I futilely tried to crawl away; a pointless effort, and soon I was on my back, panting in this cool, night air as I awaited my murder.

Ricken crouched over me, raising the knife. In a rough motion, he brought it over his head and down; I reflexively tried to jerk away, but it was for nothing. The knife dug into my abdomen.

Pain and light flashed through my eyes, and I tried to scream, but couldn’t. My blood was everywhere. Ricken was crying again, yelling at me to hold still, but he didn’t know how to use a weapon, he was just a mage, so he kept stabbing, looking for that killing blow…

“You… tricked… Lissa,” I moaned. “I… trusted…”

“She didn’t know!” Ricken cried, pausing in his destructive efforts. “She never knew what I would do! I only asked for her help!”

“To _lie_ to me…!” I hissed with blood-covered lips. _To send me to Ricken’s trap…_

My hand weakly reached up, grasping his collar with a minimal amount of force. “Ricken… I’m gonna… I’m gonna fucking kill you,” I rasped. “You… you’ll die… I’ll make it happen… I fucking _promise_ you that…”

Ricken could barely hear me. He didn’t care. He’d rather be with her, one way or another.

Stabbing. Fear. Crying. Tears. All for Maribelle. So be it.

My hand fell from his collar. The pain, it was terrible, but what was to come…

It was messy. This was the worst. The worst yet.

Ricken was drenched with my blood. His hands were covered in it, and resetting time would not make that come off.

He hesitated, panting for breath, sobbing. His hands were still wrapped around that knife, shaking. I could hardly see anymore. Just waiting. Waiting for this terrible pain to be replaced by what came after.

Ricken cried out, lifting the knife over his head, and brought it down into my chest one final, decisive time.

I grunted, the last of my breath escaping me. My head lolled to the side, and my hands went limp.

My vision went completely dark.

* * *

 

it hurts

it hurts

 

it hurts

it hurts

 

it

hurts

 

it

 

……

* * *

 

I jolted awake with a startled cry. My clothes and bedsheets were damp with sweat. This was the worst it had ever been. The worst case scenario. The worst.

Good morning. It’s today again.

I huddled in the fetal position, panting heavily. I could still feel it: the pain was still fresh on my mind. In a few hours, it would feel like a dream, but for now… it hurts.

Chrom lifted the tent flap to find me in that state. Again, and as always, he asked: “How many?”

He allowed me a moment to catch my breath. He knew how this was.

I sat up, clutching my abdomen. Vomit seemed likely. “S-Seven,” I panted. “Seven resets.”

Chrom frowned, concerned. “Seven. Good gods.” He stepped aside, holding the flap open for me. “What makes this skirmish so difficult?”

* * *

 

Chrom and I were walking to the conference tent when I noticed something important in the corner of my eye.

“Would you hold on for a minute, Chrom?” I asked.

Chrom frowned. “Uh, sure. I’ll be here.”

I left him behind, approaching the happy couple before me.

Ricken smiled as I approached. He seemed a little confused, understandably so; I wasn’t one for small talk, especially on days featuring combat. “Oh, hey, Robin! What’s up?”

I ignored him and nodded at his wife instead, whose arms were daintily curled through Ricken’s. “Got a moment, Maribelle?” I asked, deadpan.

She tilted her head curiously. “I do, as it happens.” She smiled up at Ricken. “I’ll meet you later, okay, dear?”

“Got it,” Ricken said, and left her with a kiss on the cheek.

I glanced around, making sure we were away from all prying ears, before turning back to Maribelle. “Maribelle. I think you know what this is about.”

Maribelle frowned. “I’m not sure I do.”

“About _me,”_ I said quietly. “About my… talent.”

One eyebrow raised. “Goodness, and here I thought I was being so sneaky,” she said coyly.

“Now, I don’t really care how you figured it out,” I said, “but I need to know if you’ve told anyone else, or if anyone else knows.”

Maribelle shook her head. “I have told no one. You can trust me.”

I grimaced. _No. No I can’t._ “Maribelle… If someone… someone very close to you… were to die, would you ask me to reset the day, knowing what a terrible thing that is to ask?”

Maribelle hesitated.

That was all the answer I needed. I barely heard her lies afterward, her “no, of course I wouldn’t,” these meaningless platitudes.

I forced a smile. “Thanks, Maribelle. I appreciate that.”

Maribelle smiled widely. “Of course! You can count on me, Robin.” She touched my cheek affectionately. “If you ever need to talk to someone about these things… come to me, okay? I am a friendly ear.”

Hah. She considered herself part of the circle. Me, Chrom, and Maribelle. What a trio.

I let her return to her husband, and I joined Chrom.

Chrom started to walk again, but I stopped him. “Chrom. Have you told anyone about my ability?”

Chrom frowned. “What? No, I haven’t. Should I not?”

“No,” I said forcefully. “Never tell anyone.”

Chrom’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. I feared he would ask for a reason for my sudden question… but he didn’t. “You have my word, Robin. I’ll not speak a word of it to anyone without your permission.”

I nodded several times, and pat him on the shoulder. I felt a little out of breath. “Th-Thanks, Chrom. That… means a lot.”

Today had been—would be?—the worst-case scenario. Everyone found out about my power, thanks to Ricken, and I died a messy death as a result. This could never happen again. As long as Maribelle had that information, it was only a matter of time before her husband learned; then, another worst-case scenario would be inevitable.

We continued on to the conference room, to make battle plans for now the eighth time.

* * *

 

The battle was effortlessly won.

It was much easier with two sacrifices on hand.

There wasn’t much in the way of celebration afterwards; then again, I was the only one who knew the significance of this victory.

* * *

 

Chrom and I were both silent as we sat in my tent. Reverent for the lives lost.

Every passing moment, I waited for him to speak. I waited for him to ask.

He never did.

I was proven right. Chrom would never ask me to sacrifice myself. Not for anyone. He showed, once again, that he is the only one I can trust.

Though… there was a sort of, a sort of disappointed look in his eyes… A hope that I would, perhaps, _offer_ my life instead. That I would take responsibility for the two fallen Shepherds.

…Or perhaps it was all imagined. A piece of the back of my mind that still hung on to guilt.

So I played with my glass of wine, looking into its rosy depths. Did today’s victory make me feel better?

No.

Did this victory preclude another worst-case scenario?

Maybe.

I chuckled humorlessly as I peered into the glass. _I am prey. In a worst-case scenario, I am the rabbit, and everyone I’ve died countless times to save becomes the fox. What a joke._

_It doesn’t MATTER if I feel better now. I took hold of my own fate, and prevented a future where I could die again. Today was a victory. If I were to do today over again, I would make all the same decisions._

I pressed the glass to my lips, and tilted my head back, letting the spicy drink trickle down my throat.

_I’m a master of my own fate. I won’t let fear control me, and I won’t let anyone else inspire that fear in me. And may the gods help anyone who tries._

My eyes were cold, hard, as I set the drink on the desk, next to Chrom’s.

The only one I can trust.

My eyes narrowed. _But… is he?_

Perhaps not. Perhaps… if certain people _had_ known about me… the worst-case scenario could have been avoided.

My hands fell to my side, and I excused myself for the night.

* * *

 

Though the camp was more somber than usual today, it was a far cry from the tears and sadness of yesterweek. They would get over it.

Meanwhile, I sat at my desk, my hands folded anxiously, as I wore a grim expression for the newcomer.

Lissa tilted her head. “So… what’s up, Robin?”

“Lissa,” I began coldly, “before I tell you what I’m about to tell you, I need you to make me some promises.”

“Anything, Robin,” she said with a smile.

_Anything,_ I mused, and couldn’t resist a small smile myself. Yes, I was making the right choice.

Perhaps, after all this, I had learned something indeed: I need more people I can trust. Possibly Frederick next…?

But I was getting ahead of myself. Back in the moment, I straightened my face and took a deep breath.

“Lissa: can I trust you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though Story 1 was posted in 2017, it was actually written in mid-2015. I wasn't taken with the idea at first, and it would be another year before I would realize how exactly I would want the next two parts to play out, at which point I tweaked and edited this part a bit to match.
> 
> I'm very glad I took my time. Resurrection Sucks would become one of my favorite stories I've published.


	2. Second Story: Pointless Endeavors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally posted on Fanfiction.net (under TheRepeat) on February 15, 2017.

it hurts

it hurts

* * *

I jolted into consciousness, sitting up in my bed with a startled cry. Chrom also jerked awake, startled by my noise, having fallen asleep in my chair the previous night.

I had recently taken to keeping a bucket by my bed. Smart call: I immediately went for it as I felt the previous night’s lunch rise yet again.

After catching my breath—having thankfully avoided a barrage of vomit—I calmed, backed away from the bucket, and rubbed my eyes tiredly. “Three,” I muttered without prompt.

“Three times? I didn’t even realize there was a battle today,” Chrom said grimly. “An ambush?”

“Yep,” I replied. My hands fell to my lap, and I looked at Chrom with baggy eyes. “Chrom… can I ask you something?”

Chrom crossed his arms curiously. “Of course, Robin. Anything.”

I took a breath. “I want to retire.”

Chrom blinked, letting the question sink in. “Retire?”

“I’ve spent months longer than anyone else fighting this damned war,” I said. “I’m tired, Chrom. I can’t take all of this. I want a break.”

Chrom’s eyebrows set, and I already saw his response. “Robin, we need you. The Shepherds need you, and so do I. There _is_ a solution to winning the battle today—we just need to find it.”

I stared down at my lap.

“If you leave, the Shepherds will fall,” Chrom continued. “You’ve seen it happen before, dozens of times. Without you, we cannot win. And if we don’t win, then Grima does.”

I grimaced.

Chrom, feeling he had gained some ground, resumed. “You know what happens when Grima wins? The end of the world. So, say you retire to some… remote beach, perhaps, to live out the rest of your days in peace. When the end-times come, you will be stuck in an unwinnable scenario, cursed to die over and over at the hands of Grima or his minions.”

Grim, certainly. I had to hand it to Chrom: he knew how to paint a picture.

Too bad it was a picture I’d viewed before.

There’s an old saying, a saying that ostensibly predates the era of the Hero-King: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.” I suppose that makes me insane, then, because I had asked Chrom this exact question every reset, hoping and praying that he would one day give me a different answer.

But no. The only thing that would change his response is if _I_ changed something. Like I was the only one with any influence on the world, the only protagonist, and Chrom and the others were simply background actors…

I sighed deeply. That was all it took to mix things up: a sigh, and the status quo was broken.

Chrom’s eyes narrowed. “…We’ve had this conversation before.”

I nodded.

Chrom crossed his arms, and he exercised his unique knack of being able to see right through me. “I can’t understand all the quirks of your time-reset abilities, but I’d imagine it’s not fun to experience the exact same conversations over and over again. It’s like when Sumia and I argue over who does the dishes next.”

He and I both chuckled, but his seemed heartier than mine. He noticed that, since I laughed at his joke, I actually hadn’t heard that one before.

“Anyway,” Chrom continued, “today, you should do something new. When does the battle start?”

“Sundown.”

“So you’ve got a full day to enjoy yourself,” said Chrom, grinning eagerly. “Mix things up a little! Do something you haven’t done before. Talk to people you haven’t yet, eat some food you rarely have, I don’t know. You can keep yourself from going crazy that way, heh.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “That’s… that’s not a half bad idea,” I murmured, surprised. Then I glanced over at him. “Tactics first, though. Tonight’s a doozy.”

* * *

 

 _What an intriguing idea._ I seemed fixated on that word, ‘intriguing.’ It bounced around my mind as I wandered aimlessly through camp, chewing on my thumbnail.

Of course, walking around, I passed by many Shepherds. It’d been years, so of course I was used to it by now, but as I roamed that morning, I couldn’t help but notice the way their eyes would swiftly turn away as I caught their gazes. Who knows what they were staring at me for _this_ time? It was no secret that I was unpopular. I swear I’d once overheard myself described as “a necessary evil.” …Though I couldn’t blame them for their ungratefulness.

I always accept whenever they invite me along some sort of social gathering… the first few times. More resets than that and I can’t help but decline. “Oh boy, who wants to watch the same exact sunrise!” Come to think of it, I hadn’t been invited to anything while near this town… not that there was much to see here.

I wondered: if not already, how much longer before they ceased inviting me at all? It hardly felt like more than a courtesy even now. Perhaps they would always let their politeness override their disgust for me.

But all of this was what set _her_ apart. What made _her_ special. What set _her_ , alone, on a pedestal above all others.

Lissa caught my eye, held it, and returned a smile.

“Hey, Robin!”

I stopped in my tracks, and a large smile grew on my face.

Ah, yes.

‘Something different,’ hm. A change of pace.

“Lissa,” I responded, my throat a little hoarse. My brow glistened with sweat.

She tilted her head, smiling. Her golden hair shined in the dawn light, and I caught a rosy aroma wafting from her.

“Do you… want to go on a date?”

A bright smile dawned on her face. “Wha—Really? Yeah, sure! That sounds like fun!”

My lips parted in shock.

* * *

 

She asked me if I wanted to visit the town. I said yes.

I’d been there last time it was today, and the today before that. This time was immeasurably different. Unrecognizably different.

She laughed at my weak jokes. She made me laugh with her exuberance.

She glowed radiantly.

 _What is this?_ I thought, clutching at my chest. She stopped ahead, glancing curiously at me with a mouthful of candy.

“It’s… It’s warm,” I found myself murmuring out loud. I couldn’t fight the smile. My face hurt from smiling.

Lissa grinned, winking. “Oh, falling in love with me already?”

She laughed cheerfully, turning and walking ahead, leaving me to grow that aching smile even further.

Am I?

* * *

 

“Robin… Robin, it’s growing dark.” Lissa’s smile was a little weaker. “You said.”

“I know,” I murmured. _The ambush is less than an hour after the sun sets. We’re almost out of time. …But if Chrom took care of all the logistics, like he said he would, then…_

“C’mon, Robin,” she said, reinforcing that remarkable smile of hers. “We’ve got this. Right? We’re the Shepherds! Toughest of the tough!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, geez, what’s with the grumpiness?” Lissa stood and offered me her hand. “You of _all_ people know what kind of amazingness we’ve accomplished before! So get off that rump, and let’s show those guys what’s what!”

I stared at her offer. The golden, waning sunlight cast her hand in a lovely glow.

Hesitantly—my fingers trembling—I reached for her.

At my touch, she squeezed her hand around mine, and I relinquished my seat.

We stood still for a moment, eyes locked.

“Here.”

She stood on her tiptoes and planted a chaste kiss on my cheek. My body lit with warmth, as unknown feelings shot through my every limb.

I turned to face her, out of breath. Her wide, blue eyes looked up at me; she carried a slight blush to her cheeks.

“Something to fight for,” she whispered. “Now let’s get going.”

She wrapped her arms around one of mine, and we walked back to camp in that manner. Down to business.

* * *

 

It didn’t matter.

If there was one consolation, it was that I heard her cry my name when the arrow pierced my lung. Brought a smile to my face.

* * *

 

it hurts

it hurts

and none of that ever happened

* * *

 

“Ggh—!”

This time I made effective use of the bucket. The noise pulled Chrom from sleep.

Grimacing, Chrom patiently waited for me to finish before speaking up. “Gods, I didn’t even realize we had a battle today. How many?”

“F-Four.”

I could have told him any number I wanted. Maybe this was the second time, if I wanted it to be. Maybe it was the tenth, if I especially wanted pity.

But of course I wouldn’t… This was a tentative enough grasp on reality. If I started lying to Chrom, then I truly would be alone.

“Four?!” he exclaimed. “An ambush, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah.” I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. What was I even throwing up? Squinting, I made out a sliver of pink amid the vomit.

…Candy?

“Strange.” Chrom was lost in thought. “I would expect that we’d only need one reset to counter an ambush. Even knowing exactly where they come from, it still proves that difficult?”

“They’ve got competent archers. No-fly zone, and they pick at us like fish in a barrel. They react to where I position people, striking from a different location each time. Mobile little shits.”

Chrom’s eyebrows furrowed as he frowned. “Robin, please.”

“Sorry.” I wasn’t sorry, but I might as well humor his lingual prudishness. Typical, at least.

Chrom crossed his arms, letting out a deep sigh. “…You seem stressed.”

“You think?” The snark came unbidden. I regretted my harshness, but not enough to retract it.

“Yeah, I do. I think you need a break.” A little smile appeared on his face. “Today, you should try something new. When does the battle start?”

I sighed. “Sundown.” History repeating, but I let Chrom say his piece.

“So you’ve got a full day to enjoy yourself. Mix things up a little! Do something you haven’t done before. Talk to people you haven’t yet, eat some food you rarely have, I don’t know. You can keep yourself from going crazy that way, heh.”

“Whatever you say.” I glanced up at him. “Tactics first, though. Tonight sucks.”

* * *

 

I was wandering again. Walking through camp, alone.

The way they averted their gazes stung a little more.

All the more refreshing when I came across her by accident.

“Hey, Robin!” the princess said, beaming. “Fancy seeing you here!”

Warmness. A hint of it. It had me yearning for more.

What could one more time hurt?

* * *

 

Lissa sighed impatiently. I was dragging my feet again. “Geez, Robin, what’s the deal? You’ve got a whole day to enjoy yourself before the fight! Just let your hair down a little, okay?”

I forced a tiny smile. She had coaxed many genuine ones out of me so far, but they tasted less sweet when I knew how temporary it was.

“Lissa…”

I sat on a nearby bench, and she didn’t hesitate in sitting next to me. She looked up at me with curiosity, and a modicum of concern.

I sighed, looking away. “I… This… This isn’t our first date.” I glanced down at her, and could tell she already knew what I meant by that. I quickly looked away, frowning deeply. _What a way to kill the mood._

“Oh, man,” Lissa said quietly, facing forward. “That’s…”

I glanced aside at her, tentatively judging her facial expression.

“That’s so _neat!”_ Lissa was beaming again, facing me. “Man, it’s like, it’s like we’ve been on a date _twice,_ but I only remember _one!”_ She patted my hand eagerly. “Ooh, ooh! It’s like I’ve got _amnesia!_ Ha-HA, now _I’m_ the one with no memory! How’s it feel?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “What kind of reaction…?” I shook my head. “You never cease to amaze me, Lissa.”

She winked. “’Course not! That’s cause I’m amazing.” She looked off into the distance, still grinning widely. “Oh, man, this is actually cool. What did we do? What was it like?”

“I… I don’t remember everything we did,” I said. “I remember… shopping… eating lunch… I think we played hide-and-seek with the local children?”

“Really? That sounds awesome!” She giggled. Music. “Tell me we had candy.”

“We did have candy,” I confirmed, nodding. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I—” I cut myself short. That wasn’t an appropriate story.

A pause followed, in which I pondered the sentence I had almost said.

I had definitely vomited candy this morning. I had not had candy the previous night, so… that… transferred, across times.

Proof of a day that never happened…

It was an odd thing. Impossible vomit. Huh. But I couldn’t deny that it made me excited. There was still so much I didn’t know about my ability.

This was the first instance in a very, very long time that I viewed my ability not as a curse, but as a blessing. If just for a fleeting moment, I could see all the good I had accomplished, and shut out all the suffering.

I suddenly wondered why Lissa was being so quiet, but when I turned to face her, I noticed her scrawling against a small piece of parchment, using her leg as backing. Smiling, she offered me the page.

I made out her delicate handwriting. “This…” I gave her a curious look. “This is everything I told you about the first date. Why…?”

“I want you to write that down in a journal,” she said seriously. “And the date we go on today—I want you to write that down, too. For if you forget.”

I sighed. “Lissa, writing it down won’t do anything. It’ll just reset, like everything else.”

She winked. “Just give it a try, alright? I mean, writing it down will at least stick it in your memory more.”

I stared down at the piece of paper in my hands, as if trying to memorize every detail. “I…” I looked up at her. “…Okay.” I stowed it in the pocket of my coat.

She clapped her hands together gleefully. “Nice! Now—let’s see how those kids feel about freeze tag!”

* * *

 

It took a rain of arrows to fell Chrom. With his dying breath, he slew the enemy captain. The battle was supposedly won.

Not without Chrom it wasn’t.

I closed my eyes and allowed an enemy sword free passage into my stomach.

* * *

 

it hurts

* * *

 

Confirmed: an unmistakable pink in my puke. The candy here sure doesn’t digest well, to say the least.

“Gods, _five_ times?! I didn’t even think there was a battle today!”

I hardly listened to Chrom’s speech, because a hope was growing within me that had never existed before.

Still in my pocket, sitting as if it belonged, was the piece of parchment that Lissa had never handed me.

* * *

 

“Oh my gods, you’re right! This IS my handwriting!” Lissa was laughing. “Wow, we’ve been on two dates and I didn’t even know it!”

I chuckled, running a hand through my hair. “Yep.”

“Wow!” She read through the page again. “It’s like when you find a picture you drew when you were a baby, but, like, I wrote this _today!”_

“In the future, in fact. You wrote most of that later this afternoon.”

“What a wacky sentence,” she mused.

* * *

 

I sighed, watching the sun drift ever lower on the western horizon. “We’ll have to go, soon.”

But Lissa was intent on her work, writing notes on the page. She wore a mischievous smile.

“What are you up to?” I asked with a grin.

“Noooothing,” she teased, not looking up. When I tried to peer over her shoulder, she shied away. “Hey! Don’t read this, okay? This is for my eyes only, IF we lose the battle again.”

I chuckled and put up defensive hands. “Sure, sure.”

* * *

 

“They’re here!” a scout reported. “Enemy troops, approaching from the northwest!”

The Shepherds began to mobilize. I took a moment alone, inspecting the note Lissa had left for her future past self.

_Give that handsome galoot a kiss when you see him, okay? It’s the fourth date. He’s kinda earned it. Shame he’s taken us to the same place every time though… ;)_

I smiled giddily, tucking the note away in my pocket.

* * *

 

The archers attacked from the east, when I thought they would come from the north. Tricked me yet again.

* * *

 

it hurts

but

not as much

* * *

 

I jerked awake in a cold sweat, panting for breath. However, the urge to vomit did not rise, and I had myself under control within moments. Feeling in my pocket, Lissa’s notes to herself were still secure.

Chrom leaned forward, eyebrows furrowed. “…Robin? What’s wrong? Was it a nightmare?”

“No, it was… the sixth,” I said. “Sixth reset.”

His eyebrows raised. “What?! _Six?_ And that was your whole reaction?!” He shook his head. “Gods, I didn’t even realize there would be a battle today!”

“We need to make plans,” I urged. “We need to start right away.”

_I don’t want to waste a second._

* * *

 

Our fourth date was as pleasant as the previous three. Lissa was as romantically entranced in the whole time-loop thing as before—and I couldn’t deny, it was a little exciting to me as well.

It hurt, yes. It hurt. But never before had I actually had fun with this.

I found myself making plans for our fifth first date. Almost… almost _looking forward_ to dying. Gods.

As the afternoon waned, Lissa started to grow a blush to her cheeks.

I knew why. I wanted her to act. I wanted her to obey the note. To obey the Lissa of the last today. But I waited, squirming in my impatience. I think she knew. She was either preparing herself for it, or… or savoring the wait, perhaps.

“Lissa,” I said, gesturing at the horizon. “The sun is going down.” We had time left. We had half an hour at least before we’d need to return. But it had already been a longer date than before. I was at my limit.

“Wait. I…” She turned west, frowning at the sun. “I… need a minute.”

I tilted my head. _A minute for what?_ I almost asked, teasingly, but I decided against being coy. I didn’t want to waste any time. “Okay.”

We sat at a bench, redness growing on each of our cheeks. I think she knew I knew. I _knew_ she knew I knew. What was she waiting for, then?

I suddenly noticed her hand. The way she had it on her lap, palm upright—she _never_ had it like that. It was a hint. A hint I immediately took, interlacing my fingers through hers.

I could feel the pulse in her wrist. Fast. Mine was, too.

“I…” she murmured. “I know we’ve been on four dates now… I believe you, trust me. If everything was normal, I’d…” She glanced aside at me. “There wouldn’t be any doubt.” She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve made you wait. But for me, it’s still our first date. What feels like an eternity to you has been a… uh…” She laughed quietly. “Well, it’s just been one day.”

Ah. I understood, now. I should’ve known. The reason Lissa of the third date had sent this message forward—had told the next Lissa to accept a kiss that she herself wasn’t ready to. She hadn’t realized that Lissa of the fourth date wouldn’t be ready, either.

“I know,” I said quietly. “I… I get it if you want to wait. Whenever I get past today, I’ll… I’ll treat you right. I swear, we’ll be normal.”

“Oh, Robin…” She was smiling right at me now, her eyes watering slightly. “Robin… You’re wonderful. You’re too nice to me. I… I just wish…”

She didn’t know what she wished, of course. Something normal? Maybe. The end of this war? Maybe. Naga only knew I wanted both of those things. Time to be with Lissa. Time to treat her like I should.

“Lissa, I can wait,” I implored. “I’ll wait as many resets as I have to. I want to be with you.”

She tilted her head, laughing a little bit and shaking a tear loose. “Robin… You’re… amazing. I think I…” She looked away. Still too soon.

“Me too,” I said quickly. “I know, I’ve known you longer, the circumstances are different, but there’ll come a time when this little time difference won’t matter. We’ll both be able to say then what I want to say now.”

“Gods, Robin!”

She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. Inhibitions to the wind, I suppose. What did she have to lose? Did she expect judgment from me? Judgment for a woman kissing a man on the first date?

No, I threw myself into the kiss wholeheartedly. I didn’t know what to feel. I didn’t know what this feeling _was._ Intense, yes. Numbing, yes. Warm…

My hands settled on her hips as I pulled her closer.

…Warm, yes.

Lissa suddenly pulled away. I thoughtlessly made to pursue her, before stopping myself short.

Her blue eyes were inches away from mine. Concern.

“I hope we make it,” she whispered. “I really want this to be the time.”

“I do too,” I said. “But if it isn’t, I’ll keep going until it is. I promise you, Lissa.”

“If…” She glanced behind her, at the sunset to the west. “If it isn’t… I’ll be gone, huh? This… this’ll never have happened.”

I winced. “…Yeah.”

She looked back at me. Those beautiful eyes, almost watering. “That’s… That’s kinda like dying, I think. Like… if this isn’t the time, then I’m gone. These are our last moments together.”

I looked away. Like I needed her to remind me of this. “Lissa…”

She placed both of her hands on my cheeks, forcing me to meet her eye. “Robin, I love you,” she said intensely. “If I never get to say that again, here it is. I love you. And I know you can get the Lissa of next time to love you, too. And the Lissa after that, and the Lissa after that.”

She forced her lips against mine, and we were intertwined for another passionate moment.

She pulled away, giving me a tiny little smile. She took a hand off of my cheek to wipe away her tears. “S-Sorry for being a downer like that, Robin… I’m sure you think about that stuff all the time.”

I turned my eyes downward. “…Lissa, I love you too. I’ll make things work.”

“Robin…” she murmured. I heard a teasing edge grow in her voice. “…Just _where_ are you looking?”

She got a grin out of me with that.

I locked this moment away in my mind. Treasured forever.

* * *

 

“Don’t look, Robin,” she panted. “Look away…”

“I can’t,” I choked, tears joining the amalgamation of dirt and blood on my face. Weakly, with the arm that wasn’t pinned to the earth by a harsh arrow, I reached out for her. “Lissa…!”

“Don’t let this ruin it,” she whispered. Her chest heaved with labored breaths, struggling against the projectiles imbedded in her abdomen. “You can… change this. Don’t… give up…”

Her fingers grazed against mine, then fell limp.

A glaze fell over her lovely eyes.

I felt footsteps nearby. Chrom standing overhead—wearing a look of absolute horror. His mouth moved, formed his sister’s name, but I heard no sound.

I looked up at him. Begging. “We’ve lost,” I whispered. “She’s gone…”

His hand tightened around Falchion.

“Do it…”

His second hand joined the first on the sword’s hilt.

“Make it quick… please.”

I closed my eyes, and the sword fell.

* * *

 

it hurts

it hurts

 

lissa

* * *

 

The notes were still in my pocket when I awoke.

She’d left a final message for herself.

_I love Robin. You will too, future-past-me._

* * *

 

It was the same. The same. Her doubts, my reassurances. My proclamation to love her, forever…

“What feels like an eternity to you has been a… uh… Heh, well, it’s just been one day.”

The exact

same

fucking

thing

And I died again. I failed again.

I sat through it again.

She said the same things.

I tried to say the same things.

But my words were a little more impatient. My heart was less into them.

I caught myself, and tried to explain how we’d had the conversation before.

She understood, yes. She gave me a reassuring smile.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden on you,” she said, almost crying.

Liar.

It’s my fault. My failures.

If this battle was won, this problem would not exist.

My mouth was hot, waiting, expectant. Waiting for the moment she took the initiative again.

She never did.

I had killed the mood.

When the sun set, we quietly returned to camp, uncomfortably hand in hand. We might as well not have bothered at all.

* * *

 

There’s an old saying. A saying that ostensibly predates the era of the Hero-King.

“Even an easy task, if left with any room for error, will eventually be failed if attempted a thousand times.”

More commonly known as

“Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong eventually.”

I’d always remembered to stow Lissa’s notes in the lowest inner pocket of my cloak. The pocket least likely to be pierced by the enemy. Not the chest pocket, not the stomach-level pocket; those were easy pickings for an archer. No, this pocket hung closer to my thigh, and was a rather difficult target.

That said, the archers were many, and their chances were frequent. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

 

it hurts

it hurts

* * *

 

I sat in my bed, staring at the destroyed pages in my hand. Illegible. Could hardly make out a letter after what the archers had done to them.

Fuck.

Glancing down at my cloak, the pocket was wholly intact. As if it had never seen combat. Exactly as it had appeared last night, all those todays ago.

“Doesn’t make sense. What kind of supernatural bullshit…”

“Robin,” Chrom muttered scoldingly.

* * *

 

I tried anyway. Why not? Go off-script a little.

“Six dates? Seriously?!” Lissa grinned, crossing her arms. “C’mon, Robin, you’re just pulling my leg.”

I shrugged. “No, I’m… I’m serious. I wish I had proof to show you, but…”

She tapped her foot, mulling it over. “…All right. Okay, I believe you.”

My eyes widened. “Wh—Really?”

“Yeah!” She beamed. Cheerful, oblivious optimism. “I mean, if you got me to go on _six_ dates with you, well, what kind of idiot would I have to be to turn you down on the seventh?” She reached for my hand. “Come on, let’s go into town! I heard they had this _awesome_ candy…”

A flicker of past warmth shot through me.

_It’s meant to be._

* * *

 

“It’s almost sundown.”

“Hm?” She glanced at the western horizon. “Oh… Oh, you’re right.” She turned back to me, smiling brightly. “I had a blast today. We should do this again sometime.” Her hand suddenly shot up to cover her mouth. “Oh, man! Y-You know what I meant, I…”

“Haha… Lissa, of course I know what you meant.” I took a step closer, smiling down at her.

She reflexively withdrew a step, backing into the wall of a house. She still grinned slightly. “Wha—Robin, c’mon.”

“You had fun, didn’t you?” I murmured, placing a hand on the wall over her shoulder and leaning ever-so-slightly in. I could taste her scent, I had a full view of her wonderful eyes… Drunk on the feeling…

“Robin.” Her voice was a little less cheerful. “I… I know you said… six. Six dates. But… for me, it’s…”

“It’s only been one, yes,” I said absently, leaning in closer. “But… allow me… Just once…”

She placed her hands on my chest, keeping me at a distance. “Robin… I’m sorry, but it’s just too soon.”

“Remember the time we walked all the way to that beach about a mile to the south, and we watched the morning sun on the waves?” I whispered. “Remember the time we helped the children play pranks on the townspeople?”

“I…” Lissa turned her head away, her hands retreating slightly, nervously. “N-No… Of course I don’t.”

“It’s not too soon.”

I stared into her eyes. Is that… fear? No—it can’t be. We’re in love.

“I love you, Lissa,” I said intensely. “I can’t—without you, I’m—I’m…”

She flinched. “Robin…”

“You said you loved me, Lissa,” I maintained. “You said you would always love me. You and every other Lissa.”

“Robin—”

I lunged in, stealing a kiss from her lips. Anything for that rush, for that taste. The sweet taste of… love?

No… this taste was bitter…

She shoved me away, her other hand clamping over her mouth in shock. I relented immediately, letting my momentum carry me several steps back.

Lissa had no words, but she didn’t need them. The betrayal in her eyes told me everything.

I wonder if there was betrayal in my eyes, too.

She fled—off to camp on her own. I could only watch her go.

It… hurts.

* * *

 

We lost.

Nobody cried my name.

* * *

 

it h…

 

…

 

… …

* * *

 

“Heh. This isn’t exactly what I meant by ‘try something new.’”

My eyes weakly lifted from the drink in my hands to the Exalt in the tavern’s doorway. I lifted my chin in halfhearted response, then turned back to the alcohol.

Chrom took a seat next to me at the bar. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but I could feel his eyes on me.

“Chrom…” I swirled my drink, watching it foam. “I want to retire.”

Chrom blinked, letting the question sink in. “Retire?”

I sighed.

“Robin, we need you. The Shepherds need you, and so do I. There _is_ a solution to winning the battle today—we just need to find it.”

“I’ve heard all that before, Chrom,” I snapped. “You’ve said that a dozen times.”

“What? No, it couldn’t be more than nine… nine resets, right?” Chrom shook his head, realizing that wasn’t my point. “Look… we need you back. The endgame here is that the Shepherds couldn’t do it without you. We wouldn’t have made it past Plegia without your help; we would never have joined with Lucina without your help. So please, Robin, just stick with it. We’ll find a solution.”

What a comforting sentence that was. Lucina. Woman treated me like she did the air, whenever she couldn’t even lower herself to cast barbed comments my way. Just like the rest…

I took a long drink, letting Chrom suffer a little while longer. It was bitter—didn’t go down easy. Kept me awake.

Finally, I set the mug back on the bar. Not meeting his eyes, I said, “I already have.”

Chrom blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. I need to be with the scouts. Need to be in the thick of the enemy archers, able to give commands on the fly. My problem has been sitting in the back, inflexible.” My eyes flicked up at him. “We’ll need to stake the area out beforehand. Probably just wait in the foliage for hours, take ‘em by surprise when they come up on us.”

Chrom’s eyebrows furrowed. “A stakeout…? That doesn’t seem too complex. Why haven’t we done this before?”

 _Because I’ve been distracted,_ I thought bitterly. _Distracted by pointless endeavors. Distracted by thoughts of “it wouldn’t be so bad if I died.” It WOULD be so bad. That’s the point. If it’s hardly even a punishment, then I would never have been afflicted by this curse._

“It never occurred to me,” I said honestly. Less honestly, I joked, “Maybe it’s the alcohol talking.” I shot him a dry grin, which he reciprocated with a bit more authenticity.

* * *

 

I didn’t waste a second of that day. We won the skirmish handily, with no casualties and a routed foe. The weapons, items, and experience we gained from the battle would prove to make later battles much easier. This was an important victory indeed.

I was never able to meet Lissa’s eye.

She was married to Lon’qu within a couple of months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story 2 was written in late 2016, and I finished Story 3 not long after. I delayed publishing Resurrection Sucks for several months, however, because I was nearing completion on several other projects (Lies for Children, Cold Feet, and 2 chapters of Into the Outrealms) as well, and I chose to prolong my absence so I could publish them all consecutively, which I did. Though I expected Cold Feet to be the most successful of the bunch (as I had intentionally styled it after The Westermarck Effect, my most favorited story on FF.net), Resurrection Sucks stole the show instead, to my surprise. I had wondered if people would be turned off by its depressing nature, but it seemed the exact opposite was true.


	3. Third Story: The Unwinnable Scenario

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally posted on Fanfiction.net (under TheRepeat) on February 18, 2017.

As I ran a finger through my gray hair, the thought struck me that it used to be silver. Silver and straight. Of course, those two weren’t related. Lack of sleep doesn’t curl my hair: refusing to bathe does. Why do people bathe? To not offend others’ sensibilities. And I do that with my very presence, so…

I almost laughed as I realized I’d just thought the words “lack of sleep.” I’d been getting plenty of sleep. A good eight hours last night, if I remembered correctly—admittedly, that _was_ a long time ago. But Chrom had mentioned deep bags under my bloodshot eyes regardless.

And the desert air was not kind to my skin. Plegia’s a hellhole, so it’s only fitting that even the very air tries to suck the moisture out of you with each passing moment.

I’d aged ten years in three. I figured I was unrecognizable from the man who woke up in that field in Ylisse. Hell, even “Robin, victor of the Valmese War” sounded like a distant memory. I could barely remember Walhart’s face.

At the moment, though, that was because the visage of Aversa was burned into my vision. Her taunts echoed in my ears.

“Oho, maybe next time, sweet brother…”

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. _I’m not there right now. I’m here._ I glanced around the strategy tent, as though to ascertain that its inhabitants were all real.

Frederick, Lucina and Chrom were staring at the map intently, perhaps trying to find some new vantage point I hadn’t considered. I always appreciated the help, but really, the insight I awaited hearing was from the fifth occupant of the room.

Morgan scratched her messy hair, her lips pouty as she contemplated her notes. An array of her books were laid out across the table, open to pages containing random, archaic strategies from times long past. My daughter had a knack for composing modern tactics out of that antiquated nonsense—a skill she took pride in, to be certain, and a skill I was proud of her for, even more certainly. But she didn’t seem to be on the verge of a breakthrough at the moment.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “…I don’t see it,” I said. “I can’t figure it out.”

“We still have time, Robin,” said Lucina gently.

“We should be resting up. Taking inventory. Everyone got Elixirs?”

Chrom rolled his eyes. “We have MORE than enough Elixirs.”

Right. I’d been putting the resets to productive use, duplicating small items. Felt especially good to double our stores of Naga Tears each time.

“Our inventory isn’t the problem,” said Frederick. “According to your accounts, it’s Aversa’s formidable army. The Deadlords, you said?”

“Yeah.” I crossed my arms. “They’re inhuman, and there’s twelve of them. _Plus_ Aversa. The Dragon’s Table couldn’t have better guards.”

“And there’s no cover, thanks to the sand… no useful terrain.” Morgan tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Can’t attack them from afar, since _their_ position is fortified. Can’t attack up close, since there’s not enough room to field everyone and they outmatch us when they attack all at once.” She pressed her finger against the map, at a space near a cluster of Deadlords. “This looks like the sweetspot. If we could get this chokepoint held, then these few Deadlords here would be occupied long enough for us to deal with the rest.”

“Then why not put a heavily defensive unit there, such as Kellam or Kjelle?” Frederick posited.

I shook my head. “No good. There’s a mage there, too.”

Chrom frowned. “Then pair them up with a healer, maybe?”

“That would work if the knights were able to take one hit. They can’t.” I stared at my feet. “Res Tonics. Pure Water. Barrier staff. Doesn’t do a thing.”

Chrom and Frederick both leaned back in surprise and frustration. Lucina ran a tired hand through her hair—now SHE probably had sleep issues.

“That’s insane!” Chrom exclaimed irritably. “There’s only thirteen of them, and we’re helpless against them with twice that number.”

“Sucks, doesn’t it.”

Morgan leaned her elbows against the table, her fingers digging into her hair. “Man… it’s right there. A perfect chokepoint, _right_ there, staring me in the face. But we can’t hold it.”

She pushed away from the table, catching a loud yawn. “I’m gonna go grab some water. Y’all need some, too?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll be all right, Morgan.”

“I appreciate the offer, milady.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Morgan flashed us her bright smile and left the strategy tent.

We were all quiet, pondering the matter further.

“It’s never been like this,” I said softly, capturing their attention. “There’s always been a way… Even in the toughest fights we’ve been in, I’ve always been able to see a brute force solution, a solution that would get people _killed_ but would work.” I met Frederick’s eye, then Lucina’s, then Chrom’s. “…I’ve always tried to find a better way, but there had always been a darker alternative I knew I could resort to.”

“It goes without saying that we appreciate all of your efforts,” said Lucina. “So, this is the one exception?”

“There is no solution,” I said soullessly. My eyes drifted downward; my arms crossed uncomfortably. “We’ve never even come close. It’s unwinnable.”

“This is _not_ unwinnable,” Chrom insisted determinedly. “There’s a way that we haven’t found. Validar goes on and on about how unavoidable ‘destiny’ is, but if he believes that, then why were we gifted with your ability, Robin? I know, I _know_ that it’s painful, that it’s disheartening beyond comprehension, but think of the upside. Thanks to your ability, we can _never lose.”_ He smiled. “We’ve got this, Robin, I promise. We’ll make it through.”

What a very Chrom thing to say.

“I appreciate your optimism.”

…What a very Robin thing to say.

* * *

 

In truth, I had already found a solution. Of a sort, at least. More a ‘proof of concept’ than an actual, practical answer. I went about testing it later that day, as we faced off against the Deadlords.

I am not humble. Such social graces are long behind me. I know the reality of the situation is that I am far and away the strongest of the Shepherds.

My solution was this: hold the chokepoint myself. Swords, tomes, and a multitude of skills to protect me from what those weapons couldn’t. Tonics, Pure Water, whatever. Anything to boost my chances.

This chokepoint was friendly to me. Four Deadlords awaited beyond, but only one to two at a time could even reach me. I kept them at bay for nearly half an hour as the rest of the Shepherds cleaned up the rest of the separated enemies. Took me forever, but I even eliminated all of my opponents. Good for me.

Didn’t matter, though. I was dead. Missing an arm, blinded in one eye, gushing blood from my abdomen. I fell before those savage mockeries of life, with only the satisfaction of having taken them with me.

The Shepherds could’ve won without me. They had dispatched their opponents, even Aversa. Combined, they could take on the Dragon’s Table alone.

* * *

 

I saw the triumph disappear from Chrom’s eyes as he noticed my dying form. He hurried over to me and took my remaining hand, frowning sadly.

“I-It worked,” I sputtered, laughing weakly. “It worked… we won.”

“Yeah… But it doesn’t matter, does it,” Chrom murmured.

I shook my head.

“There’s a better way,” he insisted. “You’ll find it. I know you will. I know you’ll be able to use this knowledge to let us win for good.”

“I hope so.”

He smiled. “So… this is what it feels like, huh? It’s almost like mortality. You’re the dying one, but… I’m the one who’ll disappear.”

I chuckled tiredly, which turned into a short coughing fit. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

“I must’ve felt this exact feeling hundreds of times,” Chrom mused. “But it’s a first for me. …Robin, I want to apologize for every time you’ve heard me tell you a joke you’ve heard me tell a million times. And, just so you know, I notice every time you roll your eyes at my encouraging speeches.”

“Heheh… Chrom, you know me so well.”

“Sure do.” He squeezed my hand. “You’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend, too.” I closed my eyes.

“Hey… Whenever you wake up, Robin, would you mind telling that to me? I love hearing that.”

“Sure, buddy… sure…”

My head lolled to the side, and I peacefully settled into death.

* * *

 

Chrom patiently waited for me to finish heaving into the bucket. “…That rough, huh? Aversa’s not playing around, is she.”

My stomach finally calmed down, and I placed the bucket back. I reached into my pockets and emptied them of their duplicated items.

Chrom was hesitant. “Do… Do I want to ask how many?”

I slowly met his eye. Wiping my mouth, I stood and mumbled into my sleeve, “Thirty-one.”

Chrom’s jaw dropped. “Thirty-one? Thirty-one resets?! Gods above!”

“New record, I know,” I said dryly, dropping my arm. “Beats out the battle against Walhart by eight.”

Chrom shook his head, standing and heading for the tent’s entrance. “I… I didn’t imagine this would be so difficult. We shouldn’t waste any time, then…”

“Chrom, wait.”

He paused in the tent flap.

“I… Chrom…” I sighed. “You’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

Chrom was at a loss for words. Slowly, he turned to face me, and stepped away from the tent flap. “Robin, of… of course I know that. Why? What happened?”

I shrugged, grinning humorlessly. “Fulfilling a promise I made you.” I averted my eyes. “I… I know I’m hard to work with. I know I’m not always patient, but I… I wanted you to know that I appreciate you. You know?”

Chrom blinked. “Gods… Robin, I…” He suddenly looked around, grinning. “Man, can I get that in writing? This is the best moment I’ve had in weeks!”

I laughed, genuinely. “I’ll be sure to carry that with me, Chrom.” I gestured out the tent. “Now, let’s get going.”

…

* * *

* * *

  

“…ther!”

Chrom and I exchanged a glance, looking around. We had thought the ruins to be empty, since we had cleared out the last of the Risen several minutes ago. Yet, a female voice resounded from somewhere. Hard to tell where, given the echoing depths of the Ruins of Time, so we both looked around, hands on our swords just in case.

“Faaaaather!”

Easy to pinpoint the voice that time, and we both swiveled as one to face the newcomer. She was running up to us, and stopped a short distance away to double over and pant for breath.

His hand falling away from Falchion, Chrom gave me a curious glance. “Who is she?”

“Dunno.”

Chrom seemed surprised at my answer. I guess I _did_ usually know things he didn’t, but we’d cleared the ruins on our first try, so how could I have known?

The girl stood up straight, beaming at me. “Oh, man! Took me FOREVER to find you!”

I frowned. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yep!” She put her hands on her hips and faced Chrom. “Don’t know you, though. My name’s Morgan! Nice to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure,” said Chrom warily. “My name is Chrom. …Can we help you?”

Morgan blinked. “Well, I dunno. I’m just glad to be back!” She faced me again. “Did you miss me, Father? I sure missed you!”

Chrom and I both reeled.

“What?!” I exclaimed. “What did you call me?”

Morgan’s smile wavered. “Uh… Father?”

I turned to Chrom, expecting to see an equally shocked look on his face, but he didn’t have that at all.

Rather, it was a warm smile.

“Robin,” he said quietly. “She must be from the future. …You’re going to have a daughter.”

“H-How…? Who…?” I swiftly turned on Morgan. “Morgan, you are my child?”

“Uh, yeah? You okay, Father?”

I approached Morgan and grasped her shoulders firmly. An odd thing to do to a stranger, in hindsight. “Morgan, listen to me.” I stared her in the eye intensely. “Who is your mother?”

“My mother?” Morgan was still smiling as she puzzled it over. During the following moment, her expression slowly melted into an upset frown. “…I—I don’t know! Father, I can’t remember who Mother is!”

I sighed deeply. _Figures._ Then I procured a smile for her. “…That’s okay, Morgan. You’re from the future, right?”

She wore a blank stare.

I sighed again, and the forced smile vanished. “Guess we have a lot to talk about, hm?” I backed away and gestured toward Chrom. “Let’s get going.”

“Sounds good, Father! I’m so glad to be with you again!”

…

* * *

* * *

 

“So you _were_ able to secure a victory?” Frederick asked. He'd relinquished his chair to me, and was sitting at the foot of his bed.

“I was. Didn’t matter, though, since I died.”

“And nobody else did?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t exactly stick around to get an after-action report, but it looked like it.”

“That is progress, at least.” Frederick folded his arms. “Where did you place me?”

“You were paired up with Chrom,” I said. “He could always use the extra strength and defense backing him up. You two seemed like a force to be reckoned with, so you’ll be with him again this time.”

“What if he and I were placed in the chokepoint?” Frederick posited.

I waved it away. “The mage. Ovis. You two can’t handle the magic damage he puts out.”

“Hm.” He frowned in disappointment, and his tent was quiet.

“I’ll see what the others have to say.” I turned toward the exit. “See you at the briefing.”

* * *

 

I crossed my arms and leaned back in the chair. “What do you make of it, Lucina?”

Her hands were clasped in front of her mouth, lost in thought as she was. “…Mm… So, you took four of the Deadlords on your own?” She looked up at me. “What if you were paired with someone?”

“Nobody would be a good match,” I stated. “I’m not lacking in any specific area, so an ally would more than likely just be a liability to me. Regardless, everyone is more needed elsewhere to fight the rest of the Deadlords.”

Lucina frowned. “You believe that _nobody_ could match with you?”

“No.” But after a moment’s thought, I added, “Possibly Morgan. She’s the only one anywhere near my strength, but it’s still a massive gap. And of course, there’s still that she’s needed with the rest of you, and couldn’t be stuck with me.”

Lucina pursed her lips, watching me quietly. “…Robin, you push yourself too much.”

I snorted. “This, coming from the time-traveler trying to change the future?”

“Don’t change the subject. There has to be _somebody_ who can fill the spot. There must be.” She smiled. “Father mentioned once that your ability allows us to never lose. There _is_ a way.”

“That’s mighty optimistic of you.” My eyes narrowed. “I see it as a curse. You did too, once.”

Her eyes averted. Of course she remembered what I was talking about.

“That… isn’t fair,” she murmured. “We’ve already changed so much. Why can’t the future change, too?”

I assessed her for a moment. Looked her up and down. The Lucina before me was virtually unrecognizable from the one I’d met two years ago. That Lucina had rarely spoken directly to me, and usually imbibed her words and looks with venom. Took me a long time to figure out why… though that was about the same time that she stopped.

I closed my eyes and discarded those thoughts for now. Reopening my eyes, I answered, “I wish I could share that sentiment.”

“I understand.”

Not the answer I’d expected. I sometimes saw Chrom so strongly in her that I couldn’t imagine her giving an answer unlike one of his—but this wasn’t a “You’ll come around,” or “I wish you did.” She had answered with the whole reason she wasn’t at my throat nowadays. _‘I understand.’_

I stood up. “We’ll speak more at the briefing. Thanks for the insight.”

“Of course.”

I left her tent behind.

…

* * *

* * *

 

“Good evening, Robin.”

I turned around. A similar alarm raised in my mind as last time—alarm at Lucina initiating conversation. That never boded well. However, this time I didn’t bother searching for an exit route, as I often did. “Good evening, Lucina. Chrom is back with the rest of camp, in case you were looking for him.”

“I wasn’t.” Her posture was stiff and rigid, possibly in irritation at the mere thought of conversation with me. “Why are you out here?”

I gestured vaguely at the broad expanse of quiet plains behind me, illuminated in an orange glow. “Getting some air.” Truthful, though my bluntness didn’t help; I saw Lucina’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “It’s… It’s been a long day.”

“That it has.”

Lucina fell silent. A crisp wind passed by, ruffling her blue hair.

“So. Princess Lucina. What do you need?”

“I wished to speak with you about my father.” Her eyes did not move, but her hand tensed on Falchion’s hilt anxiously. “Would you spare a moment?”

“Fine.”

Another pause as Lucina gathered her words.

“I… am blessed,” she murmured. “I was hardly old enough to retain memories of my father before he passed. I’d heard stories… tales of his valor… but in my journey to the past, I felt it necessary to temper my expectations.” She inhaled. “…I needn’t have. He was every bit as great as the stories said. It saddens me… saddens me that my world was robbed of such a great man.”

I didn’t respond.

“I won’t allow this world to reach the same fate.”

Slowly, gracefully, Lucina extracted her gilded blade from its sheath.

I reflexively took a step back, in spite of myself; my eyes followed the tip of Falchion. “Lucina…”

“I _knew_ it,” she hissed. “I knew from the beginning! You are my father’s murderer, Robin! It was so easy to tell. You are antisocial, you only focus your attention on him… Yet, I neglected to act. My father trusted you so. I thought you could change! Thought he could fix you… but the events of today prove otherwise.” She moved her other hand to Falchion’s grip as well; the blade was now pointed directly at me. “You are entirely at Validar’s mercy! He has power over you, Robin. Regardless of it all—regardless of anything we could do or say—you are still under his control.”

I couldn’t argue with her. The events of today had been terrifying. The way Validar bent me to his will… the feeling of my own limbs not under my control… I was a pawn, all along.

“So… you plan to kill me?” I asked evenly.

“I do. I will set the future on a better path. I know this is murder, but if I must burn, too…” She glared at me fiercely. “…So be it.”

I looked down. A small, pained smile grew on my expression.

“…If only.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

I squeezed my eyes shut; memory of the last reset was still seared into them.

_“…If I must burn, too… so be it.”_

_I closed my eyes. “…So be it, indeed. Do it, Lucina.”_

_She hesitated. “Wh… What?”_

_My eyes opened. “Do it, Lucina! Kill me! I want you to!”_

_Her expression remained shocked for a brief moment, before welling with resolve._

_I had wondered if this was my fate. If this, finally, was the end of it. Lucina held such sadness in her eyes. Was this the way to change the future? Did it have to be by Lucina’s hand all along?_

_I saw a tear drizzle down her cheek as she held me, watching me die. Falchion lay peacefully in the grass nearby, coated from cross-guard to tip in my blood._

_“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “This had to be done.”_

_“I understand.” I smiled slightly, genuinely. It was a faint hope, but it was hope nonetheless. Would I stay dead? Would this finally be it?_

_It hurt. It hurt. The pain was laughing at me. “You thought that would WORK?”_

_And I awoke that morning, and that spark died, and I told Chrom “second try,” and we fought through Plegia’s Castle once again. I tried to stop Validar. Didn’t work. Tried to resist giving him the Fire Emblem. Didn’t work. Went exactly the same, and I couldn’t do anything about it._

“…In that way, we’re the same,” I finished quietly. “We have no say in our future. We are both pawns.”

Her sword arm fell limp by her side; her eyes, turned downward, began to water.

I watched as the strong princess fell to her hands and knees and began to sob. Pity filled my eyes, but I could not bring myself to join her. I’d lost this same kind of hope hundreds of times over. I was numb to it.

Slowly, Lucina collected herself, and she returned to her feet. The princess wiped her eyes and sniffed. “I-I always held onto that,” she whispered. “I always thought… no matter how bad it gets, I could always try to kill you. Should the future refuse to budge, I could always…” She shook her head. “…But your ability… no, your _curse…_ it refuses to let the future change.” She laughed humorlessly. “Fate… Fate truly is unavoidable, isn’t it?”

“Lucina…”

I knew how much it hurt. I never knew what it felt like to see someone else feel that same hurt.

I thought of Chrom. Chrom had watched me for years. Watched me fight against despair with all I had. He tried to make it easier… tried to be a… a friendly shoulder to lean on.

It was hard. And the more I watched Lucina, the more I saw myself.

I felt hot liquid trail down my cheek.

“Robin,” she whispered. “I… I understand. I understand your pain…”

I nodded. More tears began to flow.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t be.”

She pulled me into a tight embrace, and we both lost our inhibitions, crying loudly.

I had never— _have_ never—lost myself like that.

That was when Lucina changed.

 

…

…That second time… I’d noticed something, something I’d missed the first time. Lucina had held a strong gaze at first, glaring at me, but… I couldn’t shake the feeling that her eyes carried fear.

…

* * *

* * *

 

“Ah!” Morgan’s bright smile greeted me as I pushed into her tent. “Good morning, Father! Boy oh boy, thirty-one resets, huh?”

“Good morning, Morgan.” I let the tent flap fall, and I took a seat nearby. Morgan was down to business immediately, sitting next to me, spreading out a map of the Dragon’s Table’s entrance across her lap.

“Ol’ Freddie already told me about the last reset,” Morgan said. “Gotta say, Father, it’s pretty incredible that you could take _four_ of ‘em on. Chrom and Frederick together were hardly evenly matched with Mus, right?”

“If past resets are any indication, yes.”

Morgan tapped her chin. “How did you die, Father?”

A perfectly normal question coming from Morgan. She didn’t exactly have a keen eye for tact; unlike most of the Shepherds in the know, she never danced around the subject of my deaths. Just another way she and I were alike, because fortunately, I didn’t mind her question in the least.

“Porcus wore me down. Tough to land a hit on him, and he landed several vicious wounds on me before I got one on him.”

Morgan scratched her head. She seemed to be running the gauntlet of her absentminded habits. “So you need a defense pair-up?”

I sighed. “No, Morgan. I’ve already gone through this with Lucina: nobody would be able to match my pace. I would be more worried about keeping an ally afloat than focusing on combat.” Truth be told, the fight with the four Deadlords was as exhilarating as it was terrifying; very rarely did I have such an opportunity to let loose on my opponents. It took everything I had to defeat them, every trick I knew, and though as I lay dying I’d known it was all for nothing, I couldn’t help but feel satisfied that I was able to pull it off on my own.

“Are you _sure?”_ Morgan pressed. She put her hands on her hips. “This better not be a pride thing, Father. Give the Shepherds some credit.”

“I give them plenty of credit,” I snapped. “It’s a fact. I’m too strong for them. Honestly, if I was able to restrain my magic better, I would be better off.”

Morgan sighed. By this point, I guess she was used to my harsh tone. Months ago, she had initially expected I would use a friendlier tone with her—she didn’t remember much, but she _did_ remember that I wasn’t an asshole in her future—but she’d quickly learned that sugarcoating is an alien concept to me.

I continued. “In an ideal world, I would have a Shepherd at or near the same level as me bolster my defense and strength. Defense so I could brave Porcus’s onslaught, and strength to eliminate Ovis easier and save time and exertion. But no one fits the bill, not even Frederick.”

Morgan’s eyes brightened. “What about me? Could I join you?”

“No. Even in a world where the other eight Deadlords don’t exist, and you weren’t needed over there, then you would still be inadequate at my side. You would nearly double my magical defense and offense, but I’m not lacking in those.”

Morgan dimmed. “…Oh. Sorry, Father.”

“It’s not your fault.” My delivery could’ve been less aggressive, so I tried to backpedal a little bit. “The gap between your competence and mine _is_ vast—” _Not off to a great start—_ “but you’re still the second-strongest Shepherd available. If it weren’t me in the chokepoint, then I would—”

I immediately bit my tongue, hard enough to hurt.

Gods.

That was it.

That—

That right there.

Morgan was lost in thought again, staring at the map splayed over her knees, scribbling notes on a piece of paper; I looked her up and down in bewilderment.

Morgan was _perfectly_ suited to the task. Her magic strength was comparable, and her resistance even surpassed mine. She was lacking in the necessary strength and defense, but she was compatible with anyone; they would not hold her back, nor would she let them, so focused would she be on the battle at hand rather than the safety of others.

I almost felt hopeful. Almost.

Not really, though. This was a death sentence.

With a perfectly-suited pair-up, Morgan would nearly reach my level of durability and strength. Weaker, of course, but two is better than one. Enough to get the job done, the exact same way I’d gotten it done last time. The _exact_ same way.

All this meant was that _she_ would be the sacrifice, rather than me.

No. Absolutely not.

She looked up at me, realizing I’d been silent for a moment. “…What’s the matter, Father?”

“N-Nothing.” I stood and turned toward the exit. “Thanks for the insight. I’ll see you at the briefing.”

“Er, wait.”

I stopped to glance at Morgan curiously.

She offered me a small piece of paper, smiling. “You forgot this.”

“Ah… right.” Her notes. She always wrote them for herself for the next reset—essentially a transcript of our conversations. She’d have another sheet ready for me at the end of the briefing. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Father.”

* * *

 

Absolutely not. _Absolutely_ not.

The words kept ringing in my ears; I paced with the intent of droning them out with heavy footfalls.

But my mind couldn’t resist the temptation, and continued to run scenario after imaginary scenario. Couldn’t think of a flaw. Morgan was too competent. Far too competent. She wouldn’t fail. She would die so that we could live. She would _die_ for me… and she’d do it with a smile on her face.

I couldn’t possibly let her know.

* * *

 

 _“From the rear!”_ I heard Lon’qu bellow.

My heart fell. As I’d expected, of course; I had experimented with Frederick’s idea, and now I knew I was justified. He and Chrom couldn’t hold the chokepoint.

And now we were paying the price; the three Deadlords that Chrom hadn’t been able to kill were upon us in a heartbeat. With our group surrounded and our morale plummeting, it was an easy rout for the undead legion.

Myself, I lasted a little longer, but of course Draco was the one to take me down from afar.

Fuck archers.

* * *

 

it hurts

it hurts

* * *

 

“Thirty-two.”

“What?!”

* * *

 

“…I tried to pick it up,” I explained. “I pried Valflame from Canis’s fingers, but it was dull and heavy in my hands. I couldn’t wield it.”

Chrom frowned. “Interesting… and not in a good way. They carry unique, super-powerful tomes that only _they_ may wield?”

Morgan raised her hand, catching the briefing tent’s attention. “Um, actually, no. In Jugdrali myth, only people with major Fala blood could wield it. I don’t know why a Deadlord has that kind of blood—safe to say it’s some supernatural mumbo-jumbo—but it at least explains why you can’t, Father.”

“Oh.” I scowled. “Wonderful.”

* * *

 

_“From the rear!”_

I groaned with anger. Sumia and Cynthia hadn’t lasted ten minutes.

…Draco got me again, the bastard.

* * *

 

“Thirty-three.”

Chrom’s jaw dropped. “Thirty-th—? That’s over a month!”

“Yeah,” I said bitterly, “I know.”

* * *

 

“We don’t put anyone at the chokepoint, we get surrounded, we all die,” I said, my voice and temper rising. “We _do_ put someone at the chokepoint, they die, the others get surrounded, we all die!” I smacked the table angrily. “It’s fucking _impossible!”_

Frederick, Lucina, Chrom, and Morgan all winced.

* * *

 

Screw it, I’ll try Lucina’s idea. Paired with Frederick, I took hold of the chokepoint.

We did well for a while. Tigris fell after a grueling fight; three remained.

However, Ovis was able to slip past my guard and snipe Frederick right off of his horse. I was distracted for an instant, and Porcus shot me from afar with his gods-damn assassin bow.

We lost the chokepoint, and they left me behind to die while they went on to slaughter the rest of the Shepherds.

As I lay there, bleeding out, I had a little time to reflect. What if I _hadn’t_ been distracted? I might’ve been able to take out the other three, but I’d lost Frederick too quickly to fix the main problem: strength for Ovis, defense for Porcus. It would’ve played out the same, with us trading life for ‘lives’. This was an unsuccessful test.

Sure was taking me a while to die. I realized: if Lepus turned around right now, marched over here, and healed me, then they could take me prisoner, hold me for the night, and cement this as a final defeat. _That_ was a scary thought.

Scary enough to motivate me to reach for my sword. I couldn’t find it lying around anywhere—must’ve been flung from my grip. But nearby, I… there… F-Frederick was lying there, his fingers still loosely gripping his silver weapon…

Groaning in pain, I began to crawl toward him. His eyes were open, unfocused, aimed right at me. I couldn’t not meet them.

I finally curled my fingers around his sword’s hilt with a gasp of pain, and took one last look at Frederick’s empty expression. I burned it into my memory. I could never forget. Not if I wanted to.

I forced myself to my knees—oh, how hard it was to not collapse instantly—grasped the sword tightly, and shoved it into my stomach.

Couldn’t stop myself from falling over. Buried the sword deeper, actually.

It doesn’t hurt like you’d expect, being stabbed. It’s a suffocating feeling. Your lungs refuse to respond; no matter how hard you gasp, you won’t get any air.

It’s the worst way to die.

* * *

 

it hurts

it hurts

* * *

 

I hadn’t said anything since entering Chrom’s tent. I simply sat there, my face buried in my hands. Chrom was too kind; five minutes had passed and he hadn’t uttered a single prompting word.

“Chrom.”

I was still covering my eyes, but I heard him shift in attention. “What is it, Robin?”

“It isn’t impossible.”

“R-Really? You’ve figured it out?”

“Chrom, it’s Morgan.”

I looked up at him. My eyes were redder than ever before, and I didn’t have a doubt in my mind that I looked like I’d been awake for every one of those thirty-four days.

“Only I can hold the point,” I began shakily. “…But if I hold the point, I die, and we lose.” I tilted my head. “If I don’t hold the point, we lose the point, we get surrounded, and we lose. Point is, whoever holds the point dies.”

Chrom crossed his arms, uncomfortable.

“The objective, then, is to find someone who can kill the four Deadlords before succumbing, and it _must_ be all four. I thought that only I could pull it off, meaning this fight was, indeed, unwinnable. But… I was wrong.”

“Morgan,” Chrom breathed. “You… Are you saying that…”

I shook my head. “Not _just_ Morgan, Chrom… she can’t do it alone. She needs an ally.”

I wonder if he noticed the way my fists clenched in my lap.

“Two lives to be thrown away, Chrom. Two lives traded for mine.”

Chrom was nothing if not predictable. His expression immediately filled with resolve. “That _can’t_ be it,” he demanded adamantly. “There _must_ be a solution that doesn’t involve anyone dying.”

I could forgive him his naivety. I’d thought the same, once, but the Ylisse-Plegia War had taught me otherwise. Faces I hadn’t thought of in years suddenly appeared in my mind’s eye.

Chrom could see the dissent in my expression. “You’re giving me that ‘I-don’t-buy-it’ look, but come _on,_ Robin. This is Morgan we’re talking about. Your _daughter._ You’ve said before that you’d reset if I or Frederick or Lucina would die, but not _Morgan?”_

“You think I _want_ to let her die?!” I shouted. “Thirty-four resets, Chrom! Thirty-four! If there was a different solution, I would’ve found it by now!”

“There _is_ one, Robin! There _always_ is!”

“No there isn’t! Or have you already forgotten your sister?”

He recoiled slightly.

I immediately regretted what I said. I shouldn’t have brought up Emmeryn. I should _never_ have brought up Emmeryn.

“Emmeryn chose to do what she did of her own free will,” Chrom stated through clenched teeth. “That wasn’t your decision to make as tactician, Robin. That’s comparable to saying it was impossible to save Yen’fay.”

My temper flared. “That isn’t relevant! I’m talking about sacrifice, Chrom.”

“Then I suppose you’ll mention Ricken and Maribelle next, won’t you?”

It was my turn to recoil.

_He knows._

Chrom looked down on me, his arms crossed. He knew he had me in the palm of his hand, but he didn’t press his advantage. He didn’t need to say anything more—he’d already revealed that he _knew._

It had been over three years since then, but Chrom still remembered them. Remembered what they’d died for.

I still knew I’d made the right choice.

“…I appreciate your insight,” I muttered, and I stood. “See you at the briefing.”

…

* * *

* * *

 

Kjelle and Noire exchanged a glance. “We, uh…”

They turned back to face us; my hand was clamped onto Morgan’s shoulder, as if to hold her in place. My daughter offered a simple, genuine smile back at the other two future children.

“Sorry, Morgan,” Noire said quietly. “I don’t… I don’t know you.”

“Yeah, I’m drawing a real blank on your face,” said Kjelle. “You weren’t one of us.”

My eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, that’s okay!” said Morgan cheerfully, brushing it off. “I don’t remember you guys either, but I’m happy to meet you! We can be best friends from now on, okay?”

Kjelle frowned. “…Are you _sure_ you’re Robin’s daughter?”

Noire nudged her scoldingly.

…

* * *

* * *

 

I’d thought Chrom was nothing if not predictable. The spirit of his words I _had_ predicted, but not the words themselves.

When I entered Lucina’s tent, I was already shaken with doubt. Chrom had strayed from the script, and I knew him better than I knew anyone. What the hell would Lucina possibly say, then? It had _always_ been hard to figure out what she’d say next.

Unable to read what her response would be, I watched her mull over my words. She wore a small frown, staring at the ground separating her chair from mine.

“Robin,” she said at last; her voice seemed to shatter the silence. “…Thirty-four resets?”

“Yes. I figured this out on the thirty-first.” My heartbeat was loud in my ears. “What… do you make of it?”

“Robin, I…” She met my eye sadly. “I assume you’ve already spoken with my father. Judging by your mood, he must have spoken harshly. Please understand—he merely wishes to save everyone he can.”

“I understand that perfectly. _Better_ than him.”

Her hands balled into anxious fists on her lap. “…I am not him, Robin… I come not from my father’s world, but from a world of loss and death. I’m familiar with the… the concept of… sacrifice.”

My mouth opened slightly. I’d miscalculated. Though I had my doubts, in the end I had mostly resolved that Lucina would respond the same way as Chrom… but why would she? She was the one who had been willing to kill me to save the world. She was the one who’d seen more death than all of the present-day Shepherds combined.

“I couldn’t possibly weigh in on this issue,” she continued, her voice faint. “What you ask of me is too much. Only you can even… even c-comprehend what you would lose, so to ask me for advice is…” She paused to take a breath. “Robin, if you truly believe that this is the only choice… then I trust in you.”

I could only dimly remember the coldness of her glares. When she wouldn’t avoid me, she would give sharp remarks in my direction for every little thing.

The image of her Falchion raised at me—of her Falchion buried into my chest, stealing my breath—was distant. So long ago.

This Lucina was hardly the same Lucina.

“Th-Thank you…” A raspy breath. “That’s… all I needed, I think. Thank you.”

Lucina smiled as I stood from my seat. “See you in the briefing,” she said.

“See you.”

* * *

 

Morgan was scribbling again, standing over her desk because she was apparently too impatient to sit. Her hair fell over her pencil, causing her to brush the strand behind her ear absently.

Why did it have to be silver? The parentage of the rest was obvious. Always seemed to have the father’s hair color. Well, unfortunately, Morgan _also_ followed that rule.

I sighed again, watching her quietly examine the notes she’d left for herself last reset. How to tell her? I knew I could be blunt. I knew I could simply order it of her, and she would comply. But that felt unbelievably wrong. She was my _daughter._ I couldn’t just—I—

I swallowed down a dry throat. “Morgan.”

She glanced up from her paperwork, shooting me a tiny grin. “Ah, me first, Father.” She finished jotting down one last sentence before folding it up and handing it to me.

I frowned as I accepted the paper. “…Hm. Go ahead, then.”

“I’ve been looking through our past conversations,” she said matter-of-factly. Morgan circled around the desk to the side I was on, and she leaned back against it, smiling at me. “Made me think of something. Something from the War of Shadows two thousand years ago. So, I go hunting through some history books. I couldn’t find what I was thinking of in most of them; the legend of Sir Frey was almost lost to time, but I _knew_ I’d seen it before, so I kept looking.”

“Sir Frey…” I shook my head. “That name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I’m not surprised,” Morgan replied. “This is his story.” She snagged a book off of the desk behind her, and she offered it to me. A page near the beginning of the thick tome was bookmarked.

 _“‘Shadow Dragon: The History of the Fire Emblem, the War of Shadows, and the Blade of Light.’_ An archaic textbook.”

“There are plenty of names in there that have disappeared to the sands of time,” Morgan explained. “The likes of Etzel, Horace, and Norne are practically lost. No one knows who they are outside of their names, and that they once served Marth the Hero-King. However, there’s a chronicled letter of the Hero-King that once references an Altean knight by the name of Frey. Namely, his sacrifice.”

My grip tightened on the book.

“According to Marth’s account, Sir Frey disguised himself as the Hero-King to distract the soldiers of Gra and allow the _true_ Hero-King to escape from Altea as it fell. A noble sacrifice that should resound through the ages, no?”

“Get to the point,” I snapped. For all Morgan had said, my tone was unnecessarily venomous. But she knew why I was so quick to lose my temper on this occasion. She always knew.

“Dying in place of someone far more important… isn’t a bad way to go,” Morgan whispered. “…With the right pair-up, I could take your place, Father.”

Of course she figured it out on her own. She had a genius to her that I constantly underestimated. Something in me was angry—indignant, perhaps—that she had done this. Perhaps it was the paternal part of me, if such a thing existed, that wanted to shout “No! Absolutely not!” Vocalize my thoughts of the last three resets.

The anger, the shock, slowly ebbed. In its place hung a dull regret. A grasping pain in my chest, frustrated that all I could say was—

“Agreed.”

We were both quiet.

“I came here to ask this of you,” I stated coldly. “I see you’ve figured it out on your own; saves me the trouble of explaining.” I stood. “You understand you are giving up more than your own life, I presume?”

Her eyes flicked toward the ground. “…Yes. I’ll need a volunteer.”

“If you can find no such volunteer, let me know. My orders are absolute.”

“Yes, Father.”

I couldn’t meet her eye, nor could she meet mine. This was our last moment together alone, and we couldn’t even speak.

“Thank you… for your contribution,” I began quietly, grimacing. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Anything for you, Father.”

I finally looked back at her, and she was smiling. Tearfully.

I was inexperienced with parental duties, and didn’t know what to make of these feelings. All I knew was that I hated them, and I wanted them gone.

Morgan and I were not close. Never were. Not the way father and daughter should be.

But it was more than nothing.

“The briefing is in an hour,” I said. I was at the tipping point, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go, not in front of her. “See you then.” I turned for the exit.

Her voice piped in, hopeful: “I love you, Father.”

I froze in shock.

“We’ve never done this before, right?” Morgan asked. “I figure, if this is the end, then we might as well.”

I…

I turned around.

“Morgan… I love you too.”

She beamed. “Th-Thank you, Father! Oh, I, I love you so—”

“That’s enough.”

She flinched.

My heart cramping with unfamiliar, uncomfortable agony, I left it at that, and I departed Morgan’s tent.

Took me a few minutes to find my own. Only then—only when I was finally alone—could I… could I allow myself to…

* * *

 

“…Are you sure?” I murmured. “You know what this means, right?”

“Of course,” said Sir Frederick. “Lady Morgan requires aid, and so I shall give it. No one is more suited to the task than I.”

I faced Chrom, as if to silently ask for his consent. His expression told me that he’d already given it.

“I trust you.”

He hadn’t said that, not with his words. But this, this here… it showed that I had always been right about Chrom. I’d always been able to trust him, and that would never change.

He may not agree with my methods, but in the end, he would always have faith in my judgment. For better or worse.

Frederick looked down at his ward. “Are you ready, milady?”

Morgan nodded.

I tried to lock this scene away in my memory. Me, Chrom, Lucina, Frederick, Morgan… walking into the low-hanging sun, toward the massive spires of the Dragon’s Table. A priceless view.

* * *

 

A flurry of thoughts ran through my mind. Seemed my subconscious was sorting through them, trying to determine which was the reaction my body needed.

Should I laugh? I wasn’t happy, so it would be one of _those_ laughs.

Should I cry? This was much more appealing to me, but I just couldn’t.

Mine was a familiar feeling—the many times I’d bled to death, I’d felt a similar state of shock and numbness. I couldn’t feel myself dying, and in fact everything was a thoughtless haze. I recalled those situations similarly to a drunken experience: not in full control of my faculties, yet conscious enough to retain sensations and images.

When I saw Morgan lying face-down in the dirt, her blood and that of her enemies’ staining the evening sand, I encountered that same drunken, bleeding feeling once again.

It had worked. The twelve Deadlords, as well as Aversa, had all been vanquished. No other casualties on our side, and the Shepherds were now licking their wounds and preparing for the upcoming incursion into the Dragon’s Table itself.

Fell to my knees. Arms wobbling, reached for her. Took her into my arms, cradled her head. Her eyes were open, dull; I closed them for her.

How it hurt to be right. Yet, I stared down at her face, and I couldn’t get a single tear to move.

I could only rationalize it as dread overpowering my sorrow, because this was only

the first

half.

An entire second battle, an uncertain future, waited for us inside the Dragon’s Table. How many more tries would that take? How many more times would I have to watch Morgan die?

“It’s unavoidable.” The despair was creeping.  “Fate is truly unavoidable.” That uncertain future ahead—what if we enter the Dragon’s Table, and my plan fails? What if I return to Grima anyway? What if all of this has been for nothing?

I felt tears rising, and I clung onto that feeling, trying to push myself over. I stroked my daughter’s silver hair, tried to study every inch of her sleeping face…

I hesitated. Between my fingers—a strand of hair, buried under all the silver—

“Blue,” I rasped hoarsely, and I began to laugh. The aching, sputtering, painful laugh. “Ha… haha… hahaha… h-how ironic.”

I’d never held her like this. I never would’ve known.

Absolutely fucking hilarious.

I heard shuffling in the sand behind me. The footsteps came to a halt a respectful distance away.

“Robin.” Lucina’s voice was soft. “…The others… we’re waiting for you.”

I pressed Morgan’s head into my chest: nestled my chin into her hair.

“Give me a moment, Lucina.” My voice cracked somewhere in the middle. “I’m trying… to believe it. Trying to believe I’ve lost my daughter.” I paused. _“…Our_ daughter.”

Lucina fell silent…

Far too silent.

“…How long have you known.”

I heard her feet shift behind me. “A… A month ago. On her back, between her shoulder blades… she bears the Mark of Naga. I caught a glimpse of it during the women’s bath hours.” She paused. “It was—it was j-just before Plegia Castle.”

“And you said nothing.”

“No.”

Seemed she was going to leave it at that. Any other day, I would’ve cared.

Gently, I lay Morgan in the dirt; I stood and turned toward Lucina. Her expression was sturdy—serious and straight. But her eyes, though unflinchingly meeting mine, were red with sorrow.

I suppose my expression was identical.

“It doesn’t change anything,” I said. “She’s dead, Lucina. She’ll die a dozen more times before this day is done.”

“You’re wrong,” said Lucina, taking a defiant step closer. “It does change things. Don’t you see, Robin? Do you see what Morgan _represents?”_

I was too weary to respond. No wit, no snark, no quip.

“She is the _future,_ Robin,” Lucina insisted. “Morgan is impossible! She did not exist in my time; the Grima I fought had no child. This Morgan? Her, right here?”

She jabbed a finger at the body resting behind me.

“She is _ours!”_ Lucina exclaimed. “She is from our future, Robin! A future of you and me. A future where we win!”

I snorted. “A future of me and you? You’re being oddly aggressive in your optimism, Lucina. That’s not how this works; this is no blessing I wield, but a curse. I have no room for love, for family. This is the second time I’ve learned that lesson. I only have winning. That’s all.”

“So you’re saying you don’t love me, then?” Lucina asked. Her tone was still confident, somehow.

“That’s beside the point.”

“It isn’t,” Lucina continued. “I understand your hopelessness, Robin, but the end of the war is at hand. For now, you and I will be as we always were. But when Grima falls—” She paused. “And Grima _will_ fall, I know it. When he does, you _will_ come to me, and we will discuss this matter then.”

She offered me a hand.

“I’ve witnessed the deaths of thousands,” Lucina declared. “I’ve seen a world ripped asunder meaninglessly. So, Robin, do not presume I wouldn’t know if Morgan’s death was in vain! She gives me hope. She’s _always_ given me hope, even when that hope terrified me.”

The setting sun cast her in a golden light. It was the same—the same as that time in the field.

How did she know? How did she _always_ know? Lucina was so frustratingly, impossibly hard to read—yet she picked and chose those words, the perfect words to crack me.

A stunned tear ran down my cheek as I weakly reached for her hand; she clasped it stalwartly.

“Morgan… is the proof of our victory,” I whispered to myself, trying to get myself to believe the words.

I looked up into Lucina’s eyes, into the Brand of the Exalt she so nobly bore.

Slowly, painfully—but, an entirely different kind of pain—a smile grew on my face.

 

-END?-


End file.
